Out here in the glorious land touched by the sun, it is full-on spring, and the not-wild, not-domesticated tree-and-bush-dwelling critters are perchance doing what it is they do in the spring.

That is to say, they are fucking.

Last night--or, more accurately, very early this bloody morning--two raccoons apparently decided to get amorous on top of my back patio gazebo-ish thing. Which is covered in some clear plastic (rainproofing for those seven days a year it sprinkled).

Now, even without the benefit of overhead amplification via plastic roofing, two amorous raccoons doing their mating ritual sound like a pile of rabid weasels, angry chihuahuas, pissed off cats, and a deeply twisted Donald Duck, all thrown in a blender on a random speed like, say, "Ice Crush."

Add to that their rough-and-tumble *run run thump* I Vant You! / Hisssssssssssssssss! You Can't Haf Me! / *scramble scramble thump* I Really Vant You! / Hisssssssss bark-bark-bark Not Yet, My Love! routine--which, I'm not saying lasts for twenty-five minutes or more, but yeah, maybe it does--and you have a whole hell of a lot of noise already. Like moving guys in the apartment overhead, if the apartment overhead is also infested by giant mutant rats, and they are attacking the moving guys.

So there was that noise.

Which initially awoke me from what had been a fine, well-deserved, half-a-bottle-of-red-topped-with-a-Maker's-Mark-chaser sleep, thank you little black-masked bastards very much.

But then, within seconds, there was also the sound of...FIENDHOUND.

To say Dax has a high prey drive is like saying the Pope has a high pray drive. To say Dax goes blindly, disturbingly psychotic when he encounters any form of Not-Dog is to say that Jeffrey Dahmer might have gotten a bit peckish when he encountered young drifters.

Before my eyes were even open--before I had any notion of the border between asleep and awake--Dax had gone all Incredible Hulk on us. (Mr. Remedy, who sleeps wearing considerably more than I do, was first on the scene).

(If I could run all those together for effect, and crank up the font to 200, I might be able to begin to convey the seemingly impossible stream of uninterrupted, no-breathing-in-between crazed animal noise, and the night-shattering decibels it achieved.)

Here I will abbreviate the next two hours. We wrestled him indoors and closed the door to the back patio (where the *thump* Ahhhh, my love, I have you! *skitter skitter skitter thump thump* Yes, oh yes, you do! But not for long! continued unabated).

We attempted to calm and comfort our dog, whose everyday dozing, sweet persona had utterly fled, chased out by the emergence of his very own inner Ozzy Ozborne-with-a-Bat.

We tried everything we know.

No dice.

Defeated (it was now 4:30 am) we locked him in a different part of the house.

I went back to bed and stewed and failed to sleep due to the yapping, whining, crying, yowling, rrrowring, and finally conceded defeat at 5:30.

I left the house at 6:30. Dax was still frothing and manic.

I got an email from Mr. Remedy at 8:00, saying Dax was still (and here I quote) "batshit insane."

An hour ago, he wrote to tell me the housekeeper (don't judge!) called him, concerned, because Dax has been in the back yard, staring up at where the two fucking raccoons were twelve hours ago, still barking his head off.

And so, you see, despite the fact that he may look sweet and confused and rather contrite in the photo the dogsitter sent...no.

I'm afraid my dog may have just snapped. Possibly for good.

I'm afraid I may need to commit canicide.

Because I WILL sleep tonight.

Amorous neighborhood bushytails be damned.

(Would it be wrong to give Dax a couple of White Russians? He's already had some, albeit not in a planned way, over the years...)

This is truly one of the funniest posts I've read in awhile. The "canicide" was brilliant. And your dog does look so sweet and innocent. Take care of yourself...your dog might not be the only living thing in your home that has snapped. Thanks for a good laugh.

Laughed and laughed about those mating raccoons. I just loved the imagined dialogue.

A friend has a Golden Retriever who goes batshit over thunder - ripped apart her couch once. Her vet gave her some kind of doggie anxiety meds (pretty sure she fed them to the dog, tho she did seem awfully calm after the next thunderstorm). If Dax is still after the coons tonight, it's got to be a thought! Sorry to enjoy myself at your expense, but I appreciate the day brightener.

I was hoping you were going to write about this. I know it wasn't pleasant for you, but this was funny as hell to read. If those love-starved critters come back tonight, would hitting them with the garden hose help? Surely they can get lucky somewhere other than on top of your gazebo-ish thing while torturing the dog.

that's what you get for adopting a giant mutant whippet (is that what Dax is?) He seems ok with you non dogs, but then maybe he thinks you two are alpha beta dogs in the same tribe he's in. After all...he probably gets all "Damn these guys are great hunters and brought me food again tonight!"

Hoping you have a quiet night broken only by apneal snorts from Mr Remedy.

This is really really funny! Especially since I have a number of prey driven dogs in residence. I have a whole retinue of tales regarding same. My solution to raccoons is to let the dogs have them. It's the raccoon's problem at my house. They could easily be torn to pieces by my three or four canines, although the last time they got one, I made them put it down so it could skitter away never again to be seen in my barn. It does cool the jets of the varmint, and of the dog. Good luck!

He did catch a baby possum once. Poor little thing. Didn't actually hurt it--it wasn't cut or bleeding, just frozen from possum fear but still breathing when we put it outside in a tree. Alas, its little body was stone cold on the ground the following morning. Poor little beastie.

(I am happy that I could turn my rotten effin' morning into some laughs for y'all. Thanks!)

I haven't laughed out loud so hard, so many times since geez---I don't know---since there were good shows on TV. Sorry about your sleep, dog, etc (and Kidos on having the good taste of Makers Mark) but this is fucking hilarious!

Verbal - I know the sound of which you write very well. Multiply by 3 when the coonhound, the pointer cross, and the lab decide whatever is walking through the backyard is going to kill their family! Horror! But that is one awesome dog you've got there, mutant or not.

"To say Dax has a high prey drive is like saying the Pope has a high pray drive. To say Dax goes blindly, disturbingly psychotic when he encounters any form of Not-Dog is to say that Jeffrey Dahmer might have gotten a bit peckish when encountering young drifters."

I think that paragraph is a masterpiece in the history of humor writing!

Happy to be able to report we re-loaded the batteries in his shock collar, put it on him at bedtime, locked the door to the back patio (also his only doggie door opening, but oh well...he can hold it!), sternly sent him to sleep, and best of all, the ringtailed amour did not repeat in the same place last night.

Huzzah!

Dax is looking at me very disapprovingly right now. I think he's insulted that I've violated his privacy.

Will take earplugs, brownies, extra wine, and all other advice under serious advisement. :-D

Great post - great writing!! Your dog is so cute and sweet (at least the silent portrait is). Highly rated for excellent, accurate dog noises. I would rate again for raccoon love-making effects but it makes the counter go downwards.